Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
by Eric Draven201
Summary: Left dangling between this world and the next, Dante must come to a decision that will not only affect his fate, but those around him. Rated for the usual violence and language.
1. Out of Kansas

So, one day I got this idea that I wanted to write something that illustrates what our favorite guy in red would desire most. I mean this in a totally nonsexual way.

It all came from phrase from an old Disney song (You read right) 'A dream is a wish your heart makes'.

This is what I think he would want given the choice of certain circumstances.

Title comes from the song performed by the Eurythmics (and Marlyn Manson)

* * *

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Chapter 1: Out of Kansas

"Get the door" Lady shouted the order as she hefted half of Dante's slipping body weight onto her left shoulder. The other half of the burden was covered by Trish, who deftly balanced him on her right shoulder while she kicked her booted foot into the doors of Devil May Cry. The thick, heavy wooden doors crashed backwards on its hinges and groaned in protest as its momentum stopped against the walls.

Lady's muscles screamed in agony as they reached their limit. Trish, while nowhere near a slouch when it came to using her demonic strengths for heavy lifting was certainly feeling the effects. The two women dragged the devil hunter's semi-conscious carcass across the threshold with his long legs and drops of blood trailing betwixt them.

"Lay him over there," the blonde motioned her head towards the large cherry finished desk that she spotted in the center of the darkened lobby. She caught Trish's drift; they needed the area to examine his wounds. Lady followed suit and the pair shuffled Dante's limp body towards the massive desk. With a free hand, Lady cleared the desktop, taking care that his mother's framed picture wasn't caught in the dragnet. The man rarely ever spoke about her, but the brunette could tell that he loved her dearly. He'd actually once growled at someone who knocked it over accidentally. Never had she ever seen someone so protective of a photo.

She was thankful of the streetlight that cast a noticeable glint off of its sterling silver frame. That normally offensive light that had been placed there weeks ago as part of an initiative to brighten the slums, had actually saved the picture of the ever-smiling blonde woman… which in turned saved them of Dante's wrath had any damage become of it. If and whenever he wakes up.

Right. Dante. Shouldn't she be concentrating on getting him onto that desk?

"On three," Lady directed and the blonde nodded, "One, two—"

"Three," the women said in unison as they heaved Dante onto the desk.

They took the slightest of moments to catch their breaths. Lady rubbed and wound her aching her shoulder. Trish didn't take the time to lick her wounds and sore muscles. She instead went to the kitchen to retrieve a first aid kit.

Lady went around turning on the lights and gathering clean towels as Trish returned with the white, dented aluminum kit and a cheap bottle of tequila.

Trish went to work at stripping him of his tattered coat, which were only answered by low moans at the jarring of his body.

"Shh," she quietly lulled him as she carefully undid the silver buckles on his vest and slowly slid him out of it. She took great care not to cause him any more pain than he was already in.

Lady only absently looked on as she recounted the incident.

---

_She hadn't spent the entire time with him. Lady had only seen him after he had sent her to takedown countless lesser demons. When she found herself at the area where Dante had decided that he'd take on the snake-like plant demon alone, she was astonished at the shear amount blood at the scene. The first thing that she noted, other than the blood, was the large headless demon with the lower half of its body coiled , albeit rather lazily, almost like a rattler ready to strike._

_It was a green scaly thing, pointed with mauve and vibrant yellow markings. She made note that its torso was littered with more holes than a piece of Swiss cheese. _

_It reminded her of how Dante and Trish had described that Echidna from Fortuna. How could she ever forget that story? That white-haired fool loved to regale anyone who would listen with tales of how he received his newest set of gauntlets and greaves, Gilgamesh._

Wait. Hadn't he killed that she-beast before?

_Perhaps this wasn't her, but rather a sister or cousin even. They had gotten the call from Morrison that there was a demon not far from the shop. Lady corroborated the information from another source and negotiated her price from Dante, entirely convincing him that she was coming along._

_She got the idea that they—Dante and Trish—had known something was there. She heard them whispering about feeling something big, something with an aura that seemed familiar, but different all at the same time._

_At any rate, she strolled past the demon and came face to face with its massive head. Severed and probably awaiting to become a part of Dante's collection. Rebellion sticking out of the ground near it was proof enough. All this blood plus Rebellion outside of his possession meant that Dante had been a reckless boy._

_Lady gave the clean cut another once over, admiring its precision despite that it was made from that glorified meat cleaver… Until she heard Trish growl out in frustration, "Damn it!"_

_Lady circled around the other side of the corpse and balked at the sight that awaited her. There was Dante pinned to a concrete wall and Trish desperately using all her might (including using her leg as leverage) to get him down. As Lady got closer to scene, her eyes trailed from the puddle of blood forming under his dangling feet to the massive, thorny spike that nearly bisected his bloodied midsection. _

_Her mismatched eyes slid upwards to his face which seemed pale beyond belief—whiter than any linen or shade of paint she had ever seen. His eyes were closed and his expressionless lips were a straight line stained crimson with the hot fluid pouring from its corners. To her, he seemed painted up to be a surreally macabre clown… and it twisted her stomach to no end, seeing him like that._

How long had he been up there?

_It couldn't have been too long. Lady had noticed that Dante still loosely gripped the still smoking Ivory in his right hand._

_Trish grunted loudly and managed to jerk the spike out with a sickening squelch. Dante dropped like a sack of potatoes from a high shelf. Lady moved closer. Trish sensed the approach and barked, "Stay back!"_

_Lady paused in her steps as Trish discarded the two foot long spike._

"_They're poisonous," Trish explained as she extracted a smaller one from his chest, "Hacketti's barbs are full of venom that is fatal to humans." Lady's eyes regarded the smaller spikes which seemed to cover parts of Dante's body like a porcupine._

_Dante, with his eyes still closed, rasped out a small laugh before saying, "Wh-who would have thought she had more bite than Echidna?" He laughed again and let out a wet cough, followed by a wince._

How could he laugh and joke despite obviously being in pain?

"_ARGH! SHIT!" Dante threw his eyes open and breathed in anguish as Trish removed one from his knee._

How is he still conscious?

_She drew another out before continuing, "They burrow under the host's skin, poisoning them from the inside out. I told the idiot not to rush in. I told him that he'd only get hurt or get himself killed. I guess it went in one ear and out the other." Trish muttered the latter._

"_I killed it, didn't I," Dante let out a pained hiss through scarlet painted teeth._

"_No… He had to go and be all macho and toss his sword like a _fucking_ boomerang, leaving himself open to an attack." Trish ranted as she yanked one from his thigh._

"_Damn, woman! Couldn't you be m-more… more gent—" The half-devil passed out midsentence._

"_Dante," Lady questioned as she stepped closer. _

Dante has got more lives than a cat; he'll be fine… Right?

"_Stay with me," Trish ground out through clinched teeth as she patted his cheeks. She felt for a pulse and then turned her attention to Lady, "Fuck! He's fading fast! We have to move him, now!"_

_The gravity of the situation hit Lady like a ton of bricks when she noticed the tears Trish fought to hold back. "But the barbs… If they go any deeper—"_

"_I know," Trish replied grimly, "Believe me, he'll be a lot worse off if we don't him back to the shop."_

"_I'm callin' Alice," Lady pulled a cell phone from her bra._

---

"Lady? Lady," the soft female voice shook Lady away from her reverie and brought her back to the present.

She looked up to see that the voice belonged to a petite Asian woman, no taller than five feet tall, carrying large tan satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Alice," Lady uttered with her voice choked up with a plethora of emotions. Lady stood from the old couch that sat somewhere between the front door and desk where Dante lay.

"The door was open so I let myself in," the woman said drawing closer to the brunette hunter.

Lady felt tears well up in her eyes. She promptly turned away and dug through the desk drawers in search for a flashlight, determined not to be seen crying. Without a word, Trish opened the kit, revealing that it was more or less outfitted for field surgeries.

"I'm just going to go and wash up," Alice whispered, leaving Lady her dignity.

"Start a saline drip and an O neg transfusion. Supplies are in the bag… Be careful, they are limited." Alice spoke to no one in particular, but the blonde demoness nodded in recognition of the order as the petite woman handed over the satchel.

Trish connected the hypodermic needle to a short catheter and slid it into a vein in Dante's left forearm. As the blonde concentrated on the task, Lady set up the IV fluids and donated blood bag.

Dante was eerily quiet, save for his slow ragged breaths. What scared the two female hunters most of all about the situation was the deafening silence. No matter how bruised and battered Dante got in battle, he always joked around, putting everyone at ease. It was his own annoying way to let them know that he was alright.

Now, there was stillness and only the maddening stillness. The tools from Trish's kit clinked softly as she laid them out. Lady stood, holding his limp hand, willing him to open his eyes. Lady wished that he would get up as if it were only a nap; praying that he would be okay. But she knew better.

"There's a lot of spines to deal with. The sooner we get them out the better," Trish muttered as she sterilized it surgical tools with the tequila, "But we have that nasty wound to contend with."

Alice returned to the lobby decked out in sterile scrubs, a trauma facemask, and latex gloves. "When you're right, you're right. His pulse is pretty thready. Shine the light this way onto his abdomen," the petite woman directed as she felt the slowing pulse from his carotid artery. "This is not good… After we're finished here, I'll need your help to get a look at his back."

The terrible gash stretched across his midsection with dried, caked -on blood holding back the vigorously flowing sanguine like a dam. The blonde disinfected the wound and Alice went to work at stitching up the tear in his belly. It looked painful enough and it appeared to be some small blessing that he was now completely out cold. Alice aptly sutured the skin together and tied off each piece before moving to the next.

Lady had never before thought of how fortunate she was to be a human. If Alice couldn't fix her up, she could always be sent to a hospital for a specialist. But her demonic friends didn't have that luxury.

Sure they had Alice, a doctor working under a suspended license, but even her expertise was limited. Even the ex-doctor knew there would come a time where she would be at a loss for what kind of damage a demon could do to a body. And this was it.

Dante made both Lady and Trish promise that no matter what happened; there would be no hospitals placed into the equation. If it came to any of them needing more intense medical attention, they would call in Alice. Firstly, he hated those places. Forever shall they be associated with pain and death. Also, the last thing he wanted or needed was for a doctor to notice his rapid regenerative abilities and turn him into a science project for the sake of fame, notoriety and a Nobel Prize.

Speaking of which, why wasn't he healing on his own by now?

"He'll survive this right?" Lady picked her head up from her work of extracting the smaller splinters to meet Alice's dark eyes.

The ex-doctor didn't know how to begin to answer the question. There were so many things to consider. She wasn't familiar with the demon that caused these wounds. She had known that Dante was a devil since the day a demon attacked her. He had saved her, never turning up his nose at the painkiller addiction that cost the young doctor her career. She had offered her services in medicine to Dante and his confederates whenever she could as payment.

Fortunately, Trish cut in with an answer.

"It's hard to say. A small amount of the venom _will_ kill a human and I have seen many demons waste away at the hands of Hacketti's poisons. There's no telling how much is in his system. It's pretty fast-acting. I suspect that the first barb considerably slowed his speed and reflexes in battle. The subsequent ones must have slowed, if not completely stopped his healing factor."

Lady quietly took in the dark news, but somehow managed to push on.

Alice sighed as she reached the midway point, completely closing Dante's stomach while Lady and Trish feverishly worked on the remaining barbs.

"We need to roll him on his side," Alice prepared to stitch up his lower back.

More cheap liquor was trickled on different areas, due to the fact that simple antiseptics were increasingly harder to procure under Alice's circumstances.

"We'll have to cut the rest of these quills out. Take care not break them or they will release more poison." Alice made a small incision and dug in with a small set of forceps. The other two followed her example and removed more quills. Before long the white-haired half-devil was cleaned of any excess blood and wrapped in gauze.

Dante's torso alone took nearly one hundred sutures with the entire procedure coming close to the three hour mark, leaving the women utterly exhausted.

"We'll have to keep a close eye on him. Watch for any signs of infection. All we can really do is make him comfortable… the rest is up to him." The ex-doctor explained as she removed her bloodied latex gloves.

Dante seemed to do a little better than when he was first brought to the shop. Some color returned to his cheeks, his pulse a little stronger and steadier, while his breathing seemed to even out. Alice evaluated him once more, before deciding that he was stable enough to be moved to his room. The petite doctor discarded her scrubs, before helping the pair of hunters carry Dante and the IV bags upstairs.

They brought him to his room and redressed him in a set of pajama bottoms while also setting the IV bags for a gravitational flow because the lack of a rapid infuser. Trish and Lady were careful to lay him out on his side in an attempt lessen the aggravation to his through and through wound. Most of the supplies Alice brought to the table were stolen from area hospitals from workers she'd call in for favors. The more complicated equipments were left alone, since they were harder to spirit away under the watchful gaze of hospital administrators.

At any rate, her favors were running out and it left her with fewer provisions than a third world clinic.

She checked his vitals once more as Trish began with, "Someone needs to stay up and watch him."

"I agree," Lady replied, "we should do it in shifts. Alice, you should get some rest in case we need to call on you for help."

The good doctor nodded as she produced the only narcotic she could get a hold of, Morphine. She opened the smallest of the six ampoules and injected it into his left arm.

"He's going to be in a world of pain when he wakes up," Trish commented as she swept his snowy curtain away from his fluttering eyelids.

"I don't doubt it," Alice replied.

"And what about your morphine vials," Lady questioned with impatience and suspicion in her voice. It was no secret that Lady wasn't exactly a fan of Alice. She still seethed at the night Dante brought the stray home.

"_You, brought that lying _bitch_ here?" Lady was absolutely furious. She paced the lobby, nearly wearing the hole in the floorboards. "Here," she continued her mini-rant, "Don't you know what she put us through?!"_

"_And where do you suggest I put her," Dante calmly retorted, "She's lost everything she had. I thought you were committed to devil hunting?"_

"_I am and what does that have to do with anything. She is gutter trash. Not only is she bad news for business, she's hazardous to our health, namely mine. You weren't there when she rushed into a demon infested building for two—count 'em— two pills!" Lady angrily flashed two fingers. "Who does that? And don't give me that shit about she didn't know any better, because the bitch was attacked there just hours earlier! She almost got me killed!"_

"_You don't know what she's gone through," Dante began with a quiet anger brewing, "You couldn't even begin to understand what it is to be so hopelessly dependant on something. And you should know, because I seem to remember a girl who couldn't function without the promise of killing Arkham."_

_Dante knew that he had struck a chord when he saw a stray tear in her eye, but he allowed his tongue to slice into her more, "And you call yourself devoted to ridding the world of evil? Don't forget that a devil hunter's job doesn't just end when he's killed all the baddies that go bump in the night. It ends when he helps the victims involved pick up the pieces of their lives. I know she's a mess, but we all were at some point. I don't know what have happened to me when Grue hadn't decided to take me under his wing when he did. He and Nell treated me like I was their own son. Even when I was hired to do all kinds of horrible merc jobs, they let me just be a kid when I needed to be. They understood that I wasn't just damaged goods, but I was forced to grow older than my actual age. I'm thankful for them. But the girl in the other room has no one and she deserves a second chance… just like you got."_

_How could he defend some lying addict over her? How could that woman dare to call herself doctor when she withheld precious opiates from a suffering patient to satisfy her own _needs_? Don't they take some kind of oath? How did it go; do no harm? _

_Lady was thrown for a loop when Dante had practically exploded in front of her. She had never imagined that he felt so strongly about something this, especially the addict in the next room._

_Nevertheless, she allowed her cantankerous attitude to shine through, "You can step down off your damned soapbox, Dante. I'm saying that I don't want you crying to me when she screws you over or sells you out for her next hit of Oxycontin."_

_With that, the buxom brunette hefted Kalina Ann over shoulder and walked out the door. Damn Dante his bleeding heart. It's sure to get him hurt later._

Alice's voice sliced through Lady's thoughts, "Look, Lady, I know that you don't trust me—"

"Damn right I don't," Lady cut her off.

"I am aware that you know of my past, especially the incident with the patient that cost me my job and license… But I assure you that I would never do that again and especially to Dante of all people. I owe him too much. I can trust that we can be adult about this, for his sake, and help him recover." Alice breathed a small sigh before continuing, "These are all the ampoules I have left and I say to you both that you should handle them like they are your lifeblood. Use it only when he is in intense pain. Otherwise, get some aspirin or Tylenol ready; I want to avoid as many side effects as possible."

"And how would we be able to tell," Trish asked in genuine concerned. Being a full demon, she wasn't well acquainted with the pain Alice described.

"Mild discomfort warrants the aspirin and when he screams for you to kill him, give him the Morphine."

With that, Alice tiredly schlepped to the guest room she called home a few months earlier.

-----

A myriad of sweet scents sang across his nostrils. And then a sound wafted through the air, to his ears, ever so softly caressing him through the darkness. It was so delicate that it was barely audible to his sensitive ears. So far off and distant, it seemed worlds apart from wherever he was.

That was a good question: Just where was he anyways?

He took a chance and opened his eyes.

"Uhn," he grunted as his pupils adjusted to the invasion of sunlight. Dante brought a hand up to at least attempt to block some of the rays. He shifted his hazel-blue orbs about, coming to a realization that he was lying in a grassy field, with wild flowers stretching in all directions, as far as the eye could see.

He closed his eyes once more and inhaled, breathing in the crisp, clean mountain air just beyond the valley. A wave of nostalgia hit him as he uttered the words he thought he'd never say again, "I'm home."

Dante stood, noticing that he was no longer in his battle dress, but in something more casual, a pair of deep blue jeans and a wine colored tee shirt. He curled his bare toes into the grass; allowing the desultory breeze to lick his face. From his stance he felt connected to everything; from the plants growing up from the dirt, to the chirping birds, to the clouds above pregnant with rain.

Again he heard the sound, this time a little stronger. He could place it now. The tune carried in the form of melodic, deliberate hums. He knew this song now; he hadn't heard it since he was a small boy. His mother always sang it to him and Vergil.

"_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme… Without no seams nor needlework_," the familiar lyrics drifted across the winds. He suddenly got the image of his mother taking sheets down from the clothesline. She sang this song whenever she did laundry or whenever either of the twins were sick. Eva was a master of lulling them into a peaceful state.

Dante followed the dulcet tones, somehow already knowing where to go. The wind swept across the plain, parting the sea of flowers and grass, pointing a trail for the lone platinum haired man. It crossed into the west leading him to a summer cottage.

His eyes nearly bugged at the familiarity at seeing the place. He vividly remembered seeing his old house burn to the ground the day his mother died. And here it stood, undisturbed as if the incident never happened, glimmering and harkening to a past long forgotten.

As he had imagined, linens flapped on their lines in the side yard with a blonde in a power blue dress diligently taking down her laundry.

"Mom," he hoarsely questioned in disbelief. He gained confidence in his voice, calling, "Mother! Mom!" Dante quickened his pace towards the blonde as she turned to face the voice echoing across the field.

Her golden locks cascaded across her shoulder, catching sight of the platinum haired man running towards her. She squinted her eyes before coming to the realization that he was calling out to _her_. "Dante," she said unbelieving of the visage coming towards her.

"Mom." He said making a final step towards her with crystalline eyes meeting her deeper blues.

Both stood frozen for a moment, unable to speak to the other, unable to move.

Eva was the first to break the stillness, pulling her son close into an embrace.

"I missed you so much," Dante's voice wrought with emotion as he pushed back the forming tears.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," she held him tighter. He drank in her entire being, taking in her scent. She smelled of the mountain springs, wild flowers, and Ivory soap.

There were only a few times in Dante's life where he found himself at a total loss for words. It was a stark difference to being speechless. Being speechless entailed the inability to speak, Dante merely couldn't think of what to say, how to piece the words. What could he have possibly said to a woman he had not seen in eighteen years?

Seeing her son's internal struggle before speaking up, "My how have you grown." She quietly noted the fact that he dwarfed her by a full foot or two. Her expression shifted to one of sadness and joy at the same time. It was a paradox of being elated at finally seeing her son, but also despairing the sight of him.

"What's the matter?"

"You shouldn't be here, honey," she replied grimly as she stroked his hair. It sounded rather odd hearing the awful truth from her sweet voice.

"I'm not dreaming, then," Dante became at peace with the realization, "I am de—"

Eva planted a firm finger on his lips hushing him, ushering denial, "Don't say such things."

"It makes sense. It would have happened sooner or later… Just a little sooner than I intended," he chewed on his bottom lip.

The look on her face was heartbreaking. Dante watched helplessly as she struggled to contain her grief.

"Hey, um… Mom, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything," he clamored to pull her into a hug.

"I can't," she pulled away and ran into the house.

Dante followed and stopped in his tracks at what he saw. "Dad? Wait… _you're_ here too?!"

"Hello, Dante," the man holding his trembling wife evenly replied.

Dante gazed at his father and took him in. He looked exactly as he did over twenty years ago when he left. He of course kept his snow-white hair slicked back. He still wore those wire framed glasses that really served no purpose and dressed as if he was making a fashion statement straight from the Victorian Era. He really hadn't aged a day.

Eva did her best to hide her puffy reddened eyes as she disappeared into a backroom.

"I wish we would have met under different circumstance. I wish I wouldn't have seen you here of all places and at such a young age. Your mother of course agrees."

"Meh, well… Shit happens." Sparda gave a small chuckle Dante's ability to make light of any situation.

"What is this place," Dante asked, hoping for a definitive answer.

"Son," Sparda said grasping Dante's shoulder and motioning for him to have a seat on the sofa to his left, "There's no easy way to say this. The place where we are… Has many names. Some call it Shangri-La, others call it Heaven or a place for enlightenment. Son, this is the afterlife. Your soul led you to a place where you most yearned to be."

"So, basically… I'm—"

"Afraid so."

* * *

Chill out... more stuff will come in due time.

Sucks being snowed in.... ARGH! Please review to help alleviate my discomfort.


	2. Setbacks

Let's see… Since we last met, Maryland got dumped on with two blizzards in a row and our state does NOT cope well with bad weather. We have a Southern mentality when it comes to snow.

Now it's spring and midterm season. [*sigh*] I have seven midterms for five classes and four papers due by the end of next week. Kill me now, why don't you!

Anyways, enjoy.

This chapter was beta read by Shadow-of-a-wolf and Clairavance. Thank you so much!

* * *

Chapter 2: Setbacks

Not one of the three women slept a wink that endless night. It wasn't long after Alice finished the procedure and examination, did she find that Dante was running a fever. She stuck close by, suspecting that he was showing early symptoms of an infection. Worst of yet, the much nastier of the after affects of the poison became more prevalent.

Dante's body grew rigid, as if stricken by _Rigor Mortis_. His muscles tensed, constricting to the point that his back painfully arched as much as it would bend, his knees locked into place, and his hands balled into tight fists. His lips curled back into an involuntarily, toothy sinister smile, jaws clenched so tightly that Alice could swear that she heard bones popping.

It was indeed a terrible situation where Alice found some semblance of gratitude. There was solace in the fact that he was likely too out of it to feel what was happening to his body.

Again, she turned to her satchel producing some medication that she half expected not to find. Lorazepam, a muscle relaxer, used mainly on seizure patients and those suffering of tetanus, which if she didn't know better she would have believed Dante had. It was long expired, but it still may help... It may not work at all. It was the only thing she had to turn to in her dwindling arsenal.

To her surprise, within moments of administering the drug, Dante went limp, lying back down on the bed. His mandible loosened, causing his mouth to return to its original, emotionless straight line.

Lucky for her, the other two were downstairs cleaning up. Lucky for them, they didn't witness the frightening turn of events.

_So much for sleep_, she bitterly mused as she tiredly slid her back down a wall.

Alice went back to work, administering a wide-spectrum antibiotic, more morphine, and packing cool cloths on his forehead and other places. And again she dragged herself back to the spare room only to bring herself back to the half-devil's side moments later.

As optimistic as she remained for Trish and Lady, Alice began to doubt Dante's ability to survive through the night; demon or not. Trish had admitted to potency of the poison herself. Dante was largely unresponsive. So much so, that Alice was sure that he was slipping into a coma. Soon the situation would spiral out of control and Alice needed that _control_. She feared that she was not prepared for any changes in his status and that she'd lose him in the process.

All three of the women migrated to his room during the night and hopped to checking for any changes. They all stayed through the wee hours of the morning, keeping pot after pot of coffee on the semi-permanent brew, effectively squashing the idea of watching him in shifts.

She checked his vitals again. "We need to move him to a hospital," Alice suddenly and quietly blurted as she held the diaphragm of her stethoscope to his chest.

"What," Lady was the first to object, "How can you say that? You know the rules!" Any fatigue that weighed her down dissipated as adrenaline surged through her. She was raring to fight the woman she perceived to be a bitch.

"You know his wishes," Trish was the next to step forward, but with a more diplomatic approach.

"I know the deal… However, he is getting sicker by the passing moments. We should have _already_ taken him there. He would be getting the care he needs. More than what I can provide."

"And how would we begin to explain his injuries to the doctors there? How do we even rationalize why he is already stitched up? People talk and things get reported and that's the last thing we need," Lady dug in.

"What about his regeneration? What if Dante begins to heal while he's there? Not only will he be exposed for what he is, we will as well," Trish posed her logic.

"That will be the least of your worries if he dies here," Alice responded as she moved her stethoscope to his back and listened to his lungs.

"And if he dies at a hospital… Don't you think all of the Demon Realm will know it when it happens? They all will jump at the chance to collect his head. _You_ will be responsible for every human life lost in the balance," Lady replied with a dark timbre in her voice.

A pause lumbered through the room.

Trish walked from the opposite side of the bed, around the foot and sat by his side stroking his silver hair. "If we take him, can you promise that everything is done discreetly? Are you going to make sure that no one knows who or what he is?" She didn't bother making eye contact with the former doctor.

"Yes," Alice answered.

"Trish? You wouldn't side with her," Lady half-growled.

"It's not about siding with anyone, Lady, It's all to make sure Dante is going to be okay. They are better equipped than we are here. Before you continue to argue… please consider it… for his sake."

Alice and Trish went downstairs for more coffee and Lady chose to stay with Dante as she thought things over.

By then it was already a quarter to three. There was only him and her illuminated by the waning moonlight and intrusive streetlamps. She had volunteered to stay, determined to be the one to see him through this. Lady sat in that lonely room with only her thoughts to keep her company. Her eyes stayed intently on his unconscious form. Gauze crisscrossed his chest and arms, making him out to look more mummy than man. His fair lashes fluttered betwixt dark circles. Beads of sweat dampened his fair brow and hair, transforming them shades darker; his pasty skin flushed into a deeper pink, reminding her of Porky Pig in Technicolor.

Again, a bitter irony hit her. This would have been yet another joke they shared. It was much like last year at the beach when Dante slept near the pristine shore, only to return with terrible sunburns. Had he been awake, she would have brought it up again and they would laugh. Then he would poke fun at the odd twittering she makes when something is funny. He always said that it was sounded somewhere between a small child and a chipmunk. Sure, the whole scenario would end with a bullet in his head. But they had an understanding about each other that no one else could match (mainly because not many would survive the consistent head shots).

They were the simpler times… But now she was in that lonely room. It was too quiet.

It wasn't too hard to hear his low raspy wheezes filling the room. He lay there so pitiful and small, she could scarcely believe it. It never got this bad for him and no demon ever got the best of him. Not like this. She pressed a shaky palm to his drenched forehead, feeling that he was indeed still battling an inferno within his own body.

She took her leave to prepare more cool, moist cloths. At this time, she'd claim any excuse to withdraw from this torture.

She couldn't stand to see him like this. It had been about seven hours since they were sent out to that job, seven hours since she saw him pinned to that wall. She squeezed her eyes shut in a sad attempt to push away the memory.

She returned with a bowl of cold water moments later. She went ahead and mopped up his sweat before dunking the cloths, wringing them out and replacing ones that were once chilling his skin.

As she placed the last cloth, Dante let out a shaky breath that resembled something of a defeated sigh. Then the room grew utterly silent. Lady's eyes widened and tears formed as emotions ran wild. She knew what the action portends to. But she eagerly denied it.

"Dante?" She nudged him and a flaccid hand tumbled off his abdomen, where it once rested.

No response.

"Dante," her breath hitched.

Silence.

The tears were already trailing down her cheeks as she pressed her ear to his chest. She weakly whispered, only half processing the shock, "Dante… I… I can't hear your heartbeat."

:::::::::::

Dante sat upon one of the rolling green hills adorned with daisies, bluebells, forget-me-nots, and poppies in deep contemplation. His expression betrayed his troubled mind; his thoughts on the ramifications of his death. He worried about those he left behind. And with no inkling of arrogance, he wondered what they would do without him. After all, in dying he abandoned a still waging war on the Demon Realm. Sure, they could more than defend themselves, but to what end? He understood that Lady, Trish, and the rest of them were now in a compromising position.

But with every moment he settled with those annuals and perennials, his doubts eased until they completely disappeared. It was almost as if they were sending out telepathic vibes, assuaging his worries. _Maybe, since I'm dead, the demons would finally stop hounding them_, he thought, _their number one objective is out of the way._ As much as they would vehemently deny it, he knew that their involvement with evil was ultimately his fault. He knew the truth. From birth, he was a lightning rod for demonic activity. And this lightning rod had put too many in harm's way. Maybe it was a good thing that he was gone from the land of the living.

He remained there, putting to bed the rest of his fears.

Back at the cottage, Eva stood in the doorway nursing a hot cup of coffee. Her eyes trained on her son, sitting on the distant hill. She wished that she could probe his mind. She became so concentrated on him that she didn't even hear Sparda approach from behind.

"He's taking the news well," the former dark knight commented. She jumped at the sudden baritone that filled the room. He pulled himself closer to hold her.

"A little too well," she made a frown as she passed her husband the coffee. Irritation flickered across her angelic face, "Sparda, he's too young to be here. He hasn't even celebrated his thirty-second birthday yet. He has not lived his life. No children, nothing outside of demon slaying."

"It was what he wanted. In the end, all that matters is that he was okay with the life he led," Sparda consoled.

She saw his logic and still countered, "But don't you find that sad? He doesn't even question why he's here. It's strange. Normally people rebel, claiming that they had some unfinished business on Earth. Dante just readily accepted what happened. Do you know what he told me?"

"I have an idea," Sparda replied, motioning for Eva to join him at the kitchen table, "If it's anything like the conversation we had—"

Sparda trailed off, allowing Eva to vent her outrage, "He said that it would have happened sooner or later. It's very unsettling to hear that from your _child_." Dante may have been a grown man, but he was still her baby.

"And death is treated like the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room. No one wishes to speak about it. Death is a daily occurrence in a demon hunter's life. You know this, my dear. Dante had also told me that he was… relieved," said Sparda.

"Relieved?"

"Yes. He said that it was better him than any of his friends. Dante told me that he would not have been able to forgive himself if anyone else died for his sake. He said… we were enough. He was ready to kill himself when he realized what he had done to Vergil."

Eva cringed at his words, "But you at least informed him that his brother is still alive?"

Sparda nodded and then responded, "He smiled when I told him. He was at ease, it seemed. He said that although he did not grow old and retire; his work gave him joy to know that he helped to ensure someone's survival. It makes me proud to know that my son had saved countless innocents."

"And he could have saved countless more had he only held on."

"Something tells me that he has not let go."

"Speak up, Sparda. What do you mean?"

He went straight to the point. "Whilst we were speaking, he asked me if I could hear the voices. When I told him that I could not and asked what they said, he claimed that someone was calling out to him. He said that it sounded like someone was crying."

Eva's heart swelled at that moment, "You know what this means." Her eyes could have twinkled.

"Yes. This recent development changes his outlook considerably. I shall talk to him again."

"Thank you," she whispered in a choked up voice. With that, Sparda stood and walked towards the hill.

:::::::::::

There was a loud knock echoing through the cavernous halls. The rapping continued, stressing its urgency.

"Yes? Yes. Enter," a gruff, deep voice resounded at the annoyance. Who or whatever was standing on the opposite side of the door obeyed the instructions given. The massive stone double doors moved on its hinges with little effort, reveling in part, a lithe figure shrouded in curls of black smoke.

"Come in," the annoyed voice reverberated throughout the spacious study beckoning the Wraith demon forward.

It floated across the marbled floors, continuing ahead as it took in the sheer number of books. There was shelf after shelf of books in all manner of subjects, spanning from the floor to the vaulted ceiling and spreading around the entirety of the cylindrical room. Once near the center of the room, the Wraith transformed into something more humanoid.

"Master," a voice hissed at an octave barely above a whisper, "I have news from the Human World."

Its claim was directed to an armor clad body standing near a moonlit window, picking out a book from the case. The dark, bulky demonic figure strode to an armchair with its selection in hand. It sat down, instantly delving into an ancient text.

With a half-hearted ear tuned to the lesser demon, he gave a curt command, "Speak."

"Master Nelo…" the Wraith said, but paused in search of more tactful words. Wraiths were probably not the sharpest tools in the shed, but they did have _some_ common sense. All demons under the direct command of Nelo Angelo knew not to anger the general if they wished to preserve their lives. This meant to never bring up his half-devil lineage and to most certainly never attack his brother without his consent. Maiming and possibly killing Dante was a privilege reserved only for him.

"Sir," the Wraith began again, "It is news of the Son of the Traitor."

The book snapped shut when the demon spoke, which in turn made the Wraith quake in utter fear where it stood. It knew that it had made a major mistake when using that particular epithet. By saying it, the demon had ostensibly lumped his master into the same category. Surely if it could groan internally at the shame, it would.

It knew that it would be struck down were it stood. Despite the heavy armor, Nelo Angelo was insanely fast; much quicker than even the Wraith itself. The Devil General drew up from the chair and walked towards his subordinate.

The Wraith waited for that strike.

The moonlight washed over the imposing figure as it made its approach. The light revealed a pale human-like face, marred with deep blue veins, and glowing red eyes. Just as in his former life, Nelo kept his hair neatly swept back.

The Wraith steeled itself, waiting on a killing blow from its master. Hadn't it seen it many times before from those other moronic demons that dared to question his resolve?

Nelo continued his approach and walked past to another bookshelf, allowing Wraith a momentary reprieve.

"And what of Dante?" Nelo frostily replied.

"Milord, he is gravely ill and is not expected to survive the night."

Nelo turned to face the speaking demon with shimmering shades of silver threatening to overtake his crimson eyes. It was almost as if the Wraith could hear his telepathic questioning_. How can this be?_

"Hacketti, sir. It seems that she was summoned to Earth. Dante claimed her head as a prize, but not before succumbing to her venom."

He was well versed in her poisons. It was, at the very least, the second choice of execution in the Demon World.

It was truly not a dignified death and not something Nelo had in mind for Dante. His lips stretched into a grimace, torn at the news. He didn't know how to feel about it. In mere hours he would be an only child. Sure the Demon World would rejoice the passing of the bane of their existence, but what about Nelo Angelo? It would only be a matter of time before his position would become uncertain. They would soon be hunting the _other_ Son of the Traitor. He supposed that he should be upset that he wasn't the first to bring him down. But he was more saddened to know the death of a worthy opponent, and a brother in which he was still bound.

Of course, he hid his agitation well, consciously curbing what little emotion he a left. It was just something devils did.

Many differing decisions separated the twins, but not even that and the distance could sever their bond. He would deny being connected to Dante… But it still wouldn't shake the feeling he had all day. It was almost as if he _knew_ what was happening to his twin. They were worlds apart and he sensed the other slowly slipping away.

"Who called her forth?"

"We still do not know, sir."

Nelo stood there, facing to bookcase, quietly seething.

"Leave me." He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

"But, sir—"

"I will not say it again," the voice, as always displayed a dead-calm, but his angered eyes shot up pointedly at the Wraith.

The demon promptly obeyed. It bowed as it floated backwards out of the study, closing the doors with its retreat.

:::::::::::

At first, Lady's movements were sluggish and unfocused. Of course she would have loved to have been able to scramble into action as Alice and Trish had done within the last ten hours. She even prided herself on jumping into the fray in past instances. But for now, she simply could not. Panic crept and curled its dark fingers around her shoulders, keeping her rooted in place.

It took the sight of his blue lips to break free and get into gear. She began frantically searching the room for demonic trinkets to restore his life. Gold orbs, vital stars… anything to get his heart beating again. Lady completely ignored her common sense and all traditional life saving methods in which she was trained.

She ignored Trish's earlier warning.

En route to the shop, the blonde dropped the bombshell that the venom would actively counteract most relics, rendering most orbs and stars useless.

There was a time she disapproved of such 'shortcuts.' Now it didn't matter to Lady… She'd try any means necessary.

Trish was the first to reappear in the room with two steaming mugs of coffee. "You take yours black, ri—"

"Vital stars… Devil stars… Anything," Lady muttered to herself as she tossed an armload of clothes out of a dresser drawer.

"Lady, what are you do—"

"—He's dying! Please help me look for an orb," Lady snapped her head around, revealing tearing, bloodshot eyes and beet red cheeks. It was a shock to Trish, something that she didn't dare to think could occur. _Dante… Dead?_

Then it came to mind that she had never witnessed Lady cry before… Not even after the incident. It was all too surreal. She could have dropped the hot beverages where she stood. Even she began to feel the rising panic, abandoning nearly all rational thought.

"ALICE!" Trish turned her head to shout, hoping that her voice carried past the lump forming in her throat. And sure enough, the Asian woman appeared at the sound of her name.

As if she had sensed her patient's plight, Alice moved in to place an ear near Dante's mouth. When she heard no air moving through his lungs, she moved down to his chest and recognized that his heart had also fallen silent.

Without further hesitation, the petite woman grasped his ankles and brought the two-hundred pound man to the floor. She ripped through some of the stitches in the process, but it didn't matter. They could be repaired whereas death could not.

Before either Trish or Lady could blink, Alice had tilted his head back and clasped her lips around his. Lady instantly tensed at the action, but calmed as she watched Dante's chest rise and fall with each of Alice's breaths. She switched positions, moving to his left and beginning chest compressions.

"How long has he been down," Alice asked no one in particular. Unfortunately, the other two were spaced out as they watched Alice attempting to save the half-devil's life.

"Lady!" She had to shout to gain her attention. She had to know what odds she was working against. Her training had taught her that during cardiac arrest, the human brain only has five minutes of survival without oxygen before there are permanent side effects. _Did this rule concern devils? Just how long could _he_ hold out?_

"How long?!"

"I-I don't know," Lady finally spoke up, "Two, maybe three minutes."

"Trish, take over chest compressions for me."

She stood off to the right of the scene, with apprehensiveness drawn all over her body language.

"I—"

"Don't worry about hurting him. If you hear bones breaking, just keep going. The point is to keep the blood circulating. It's better that he has a few broken ribs rather than being dead."

Steeling her resolve, Trish nodded and replaced Alice's efforts. She winced as she felt and heard a rib crack under her initial pressure. Still, she pushed on.

Lady only looked on as Alice dug through her bag to produce a sterile eighteen gauge syringe and a needle that was in all likelihood somewhere near twelve centimeters.

"What are you going to do with that?!"

"A shot in the dark," Alice murmured. It had been years since she had practiced emergency medicine of all of the medical concentrations… least of all, this would be the first time she would attempt the procedure she had in mind. Worst of all… it was going to be done blind.

She quietly and carefully screwed the needle onto the syringe before jabbing it into a vial marked, _epinephrine._ She drew as much as she needed. She lightly touched Trish's shoulder, signaling for her to stop what she was doing.

The blonde slid out of the way. Alice leaned in, tracing a meticulous path down his chest with her left forefinger. Her thoughts flashed to how much harm this could cause if she didn't get this right. She shook away the negativity and without an ECG or an ultrasound, she continued. She spread out her left hand and pressed the needle into a spot between her middle and forefingers. At a forty-five degree angle, pushed in a little harder, gently guiding it into the pericardial space. Alice administered the drug and scrambled to get a hold of her stethoscope.

First she heard a few irregular beats, then silence.

"C'mon… Take it," she muttered.

A few more beats.

"Don't make a liar out of me," she voiced to the stubborn organ.

More regular thumps echoed into her instrument. He even drew in a raspy breath.

She stayed in that position in silence until she heard a sustained rhythm. Alice let the relief wash over her as his heart continued to beat with renewed vigor.

"Lady," she finally said, "Call an ambulance. I don't care what you think of my opinions… just know that we are going to need all the help we can get if he is to survive this."

As Lady made one of the most difficult decisions she had ever faced, she reached for her phone. She could only hope that Dante would forgive her for going against him… Still, she hadn't the fortitude to dial.

"And if we don't call? … You've already proven yourself more than able to handle such situations."

"If he arrests again," Alice grimly admitted, "I can't guarantee that I can bring him back."

Lady's thumb hovered over the buttons before mashing down on _9-1-1_. She made one last tear filled look at Dante before pressing _talk_.


	3. Pride and Trial

Chapter 3: Pride and Trial

_No one expected the fifteen inches of snow that had blanketed the city. And no one met a blizzard with more chagrin than Lady. She had nothing against the white landscape; she always found it to be beautiful and serene. She just couldn't stand the cold._

_She remembered living through the frigid New England winters. She once begged her parents to move to Florida. Sure, playing in the snow brought back fond memories, but back then she would have gladly traded her childhood snowmen for Mickey Mouse and the thrilling, endless summers spent in water parks. However, Arkham insisted upon staying in the north. Maybe that is why she channeled so much bitterness toward the season._

_Despite her dislike for winter, she could see why Dante's face always lit up at the first sign of snow._

_It was as if the man had never seen snow before. So, Lady watched him as he stared up at the ice crystals that slowly swirled out of the grey sky. They made their silent landing on his flawless face and disappeared into his platinum hair._

_"You, know," Dante began through the quiet, "We moved so many times when Verge and I were younger that we never saw the snow, never experienced the change in seasons."_

_Without another word, he leaned back on his heels and laid back into a snow bank._

Snow angels? He's really going to make snow angels_, Lady thought as she raised an incredulous eyebrow. As sure as he began moving his arms and legs up and down, in and out, the figures came into fruition. Behind the scoffs and the looks she gave, she envied his childlike innocence. Then a pang of heartache hit her. In that moment, she realized that for all the flaws her childhood had, it was happy… priceless. Dante probably would have given anything to have half the childhood she had._

_He was laughing and smiling. She detected no sarcasm, or vicious blood thirst normally associated with his grins. There was genuine fun etched onto his features. Lady took in the sight. It warmed her soul more than the hot chocolate she had bought from that overpriced chain coffee house down the block. She never knew that such sincerity existed within him. She instantly wished that she could have witnessed this side of him more often. She wished this moment could last forever. Alas, her watch told her differently._

_"We really should get going," Lady said as she shifted her weight to convey some impatience that she really didn't harbor._

_"C'mon! Just a little while longer," Dante replied as he shook the snow free from his shaggy mop of hair. _

_He pulled himself from the shallow snow bank and slowly made his way to her. Dante stood there, cutting an unintentionally imposing figure. He suddenly seemed a lot taller than she remembered. He gazed down at her with striking ice-colored eyes through a wall of messy hair. She was speechless and unable to do anything but stare._

_Their breaths appeared as nothing more than little puffs of smoke intermingling in the air._

_"Lady?" He asked, locking eyes with her._

_"Yes?" The yearning was evident in her hushed voice. She remained so lost in his hypnotic eyes that she didn't notice when he brought his hands up from behind his back. That mischievous glint that flicked across those piercing blues didn't faze her until the last second. Two and two weren't added until she felt something cold and wet land on top of her head and slide down her neck._

_Lady at first cringed and shuddered at the sensation, trying to fathom what he had done. _Oh, no he didn't!

_"DAMMIT, DANTE!" She screamed as she shook the rapidly melting snow out of her hair. She then snapped her head into every conceivable direction and saw nothing else in that desolate winter desert. _Damn, that bastard's fast!

_Then, that unmistakably irritating cackle emanated from above. It was that cocky laugh he often used, letting his opponent know he had gained the upper hand and nothing could be done about it. It reminded her of a child's sing-song taunt of 'Nah nanny boo-boo.' She looked up to see the red clad bastard standing atop a lamp post with cat-like balance and grace._

_"Dante, you ass," Lady shouted up at him as she launched a snowball of her own. He of course, dodged and countered with a monstrous one. He lobbed the thing and it picked up speed like a meteor. In that span, she knew there was no chance to avoid the thing. As it hurtled towards her, Lady braced for impact with a squeal escaping from her lips._

**.:.:.:.:.**_  
_

Lady jumped at the sudden chill that filled her being. It took her a moment to realize where she was. Mechanical beeps, clicks, and hissing shared the room and brought her back to reality. The obtrusive stench of disinfectant assaulted her nostrils.

She opened her eyes revealing that it was all a dream and nothing more. The morning light spilled into the room, still early and not yet afternoon. She fought to stay asleep, to remain dreaming of the better times. Lady glanced about the room. Trish was there earlier. Of that she was sure. A corner of the windowsill was occupied by a square glass vase filled with various red flowers; some of natural hue, while others, she surmised were florist dyed. Surely, that was something Trish would leave. Were they to raise her spirits or his? The card left by Enzo certainly did. It simply read: 'get well soon, ya lazy bum.' It was indeed something that she could imagine Dante's old middleman would say.

Again, she was left alone with his unconscious form. He lay a few feet away, on a hospital bed packed with ice, among a wild tangle of wires, plastic tubing, and IVs. She scarcely knew where he ended and those life sustaining machines began. It was all like some bad TV drama. Never in a million years did she think she'd be here; at least not with him fighting for his life. She imagined if she was ever hospitalized, she'd be too out of it to remember how utterly unsettling the place was.

The machines made a cacophony of nerve-wracking sounds. One hissed as it forced air into Dante's lungs via a long cannula that ran down his throat. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with it, making her question whether or not his body was even trying anymore. Another machine connected to the electrodes on his chest which, led to a display of numbers, with green peaks and valleys that depicted the man's heart was indeed still beating. One off to his right clicked and did what one annoyingly perky nurse had described as measuring, warming, and feeding medicine into his veins.

No matter how morose her mood became, no one could part her from this near constant vigil. Vending machine food sustained her until someone fetched something from the cafeteria for her. Often times a bath was a quick bird dip in a sink in the tiny bathroom adjacent from Dante's bed. And sleep was never often, but when it did arrive, it came with thoughts of him. How many days had it been?

The nurses and doctors were a strange breed. The doctors didn't seem to care about the wellbeing of Dante or anyone that came to visit him. No matter the time of day, they would whisk him away for impossibly complicated tests that always gave the same results. Everything was done at their speed, whenever they pleased. She was sure that these doctors saw Dante as nothing more than a soon-to-be corpse that they could poke and prod as much as they wanted to when the time came. She believed they had given up.

Nevertheless, Lady had been an aggressive advocate in Dante's medical care. She would find intriguing ways to _motivate_ the staffers that didn't seem to have enough pep in their step. Despite loving nothing more than to clock some of the staff across the jaw, Lady did see some care and attention given to Dante. For every abrasive attitude or a floozy of a nurse, there would be someone who went the extra mile beyond checking his vitals and refreshing the ice packs used to bring his fever down. Someone had bathed him, changed his bandages, and bothered to shave him, preventing the growth of some kind of mountain man beard. Other times she'd get some of the older, more experienced nurses that would actually strike up a conversation and answer her questions. Questions that were only answered within reason. Fancy that! There were people there who didn't need to work on their bedside manner.

However, more time passed and someone entered the room, freeing her from her disparaging thoughts. Lady's eyes settled on the doorway to see Alice with her tan satchel and dressed in a dingy, white tank top and dirty blue jeans. Like Lady, she too was in desperate need of a shower and sleep.

"Hey," was the only word that Lady's dry throat could offer, before returning her attention to Dante.

Neither woman had seen the other since they parted ways over three days ago. Lady remembered the call and how panicked she must have sounded. She knew that if she remained too calm, flags would be raised by the operator. Then again, fear did shine through in her voice. No acting required. The call dispatcher took Lady through the whole nine yards of checking for vital signs while Alice gathered her supplies and anything that would betray her presence. She was gone before Lady could hang up.

Alice returned, "How are you holding up?"

Lady replied, "Fine… I guess."

Alice gave a curt nod before pulling up another chair near Lady. A moment later a manila folder landed in Lady's lap.

"This is Dante's chart. I had call in a favor to a few nurses."

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Don't know. Learn just how clueless they are? Figure out your next move? I've been through this thing and I still can't figure it out. We removed all of the barbs and he is on so many antibiotics that infection would never stand a chance. Why is he still deteriorating?" Alice continued to mentally berate herself for not figuring out what was keeping Dante so ill.

Lady just didn't want to think about the inevitable. She couldn't bare it. Alice's incessant questioning shrouded her in a creeping depression again. Worst yet, why her of all people? Why couldn't she and Trish have this conversation? Hell, they had known Dante much longer than the addict and it would have made sense that in the end they would know Dante's wishes, whatever that may entail.

Alice speaking to her, in the first place, angered Lady. What could the addict say to her? She lost all respect and sympathy for Alice the moment she nearly got them both killed over drugs. She was not worth the breath in Lady's chest nor a single passing thought. She was vehemently against allowing Alice to play unlicensed doctor on them. She would have been better off if Lady had simply left her to die. But still, she was human and was therefore graced with Lady's mercy. Damn Dante and his bleeding heart! Had it not been for him, she could have cared less. He was the key, none of them would have left themselves so open had he not been in the middle of it all. Lady would have never been so vulnerable.

And that woman had the audacity to up and leave, only to return handling the situation so well; too well. Just where did Miss Alice's loyalties lie? Was Lady jealous that she wasn't in pieces over his imminent death?

"Do you know where the name Tony Redgrave came from?" Lady's voice was so quiet that Alice scarcely heard the question.

Alice shook her head.

"From a troubled past… It came from a boy who had his childhood raped and taken from him and was then forced to become a mercenary in order to survive. When asked, I told a paramedic that his name was Tony. The next thing he asked me was whether or not he had any medical conditions and if he was taking any medications. I didn't have the answers. I was frozen and Trish was utterly crushed. You abandoned him. He needed you, _we_ needed you. Why did you leave?"

"Believe me. I didn't _want_ to go. But if I hadn't, he probably wouldn't have gotten the care he needed. My name is poison in the medical community. Some people have actually been black balled when other doctors heard that I knew them. It was better this way; better than the alternative."

"You weren't there for the ceaseless questioning; the lies Trish and I had to come up with on the spot. You weren't there to explain away the narcotics in his system and the fresh stitches all over his body. I had to return an identity that Dante had once tried to abandon, something he tried to get rid of."

"You have proven yourself capable of sidestepping the questions." Alice withdrew, her detachment evident in her mannerisms. She never bothered raising her voice, nor made eye contact. She quietly sat, peeling the cuticles of her thumb nails.

"And for what? We're here and Dante's only getting sicker. These doctors are no closer to getting him back on his feet. Hell, they're barely able to keep him alive. All they've done is avoid me like a plague and send chaplains my way for 'grief counseling.' Everyone is in on this cosmic secret and no one is willing to let me in."

Again, Lady directed her attention to the hospital bed as if Dante was going to sit up and speak up for himself. There was a pause in the conversation as the beeping of the machines filled the room once again. Lady dropped her gaze to the polished linoleum floor, unable to look at him and unable to look Alice in the eyes.

"But you already know," Alice stated softly, "Look at the file. It will tell you that Dante's blood pressure has been unstable. It's been dropping since he was admitted and they can't get it back up. He has a fever of 106 for almost four days now. They can't break it and I'm surprised there have been no signs of seizures. He's heavily sedated and has some of the strongest painkillers on the planet in his veins right now. It's the stuff you give the patients when they are in their final stages of cancer, you know. They've sent for all kinds of specialists for this case and even they are stumped. Soon, they will probably send in chaplain to read him his last rites or something. Then they will ask you about taking him off life support, then organ donation… maybe convince you that it will save a lot of lives, which is true. The bottom line is that Dante's dying and the doctors and nurses on his case are running out of options."

There was an uncomfortable, pregnant pause before Alice stood to leave Lady alone with her thoughts.

"Wait." Alice stopped and turned towards the voice that called out to her, "How long?"

"Days… hours even. I don't know, but what I do know is that this is not looking good," Alice gave her grim reply, "Look, I'm sorry, but the venom spread faster than we anticipated."

Alice walked over to the gurney, placed a hand on Dante's chest, and bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead. "Thanks for everything. There had never been a soul kinder to me than you," she whispered into his ear before leaving.

Lady continued to sit there, still processing this information, still wishing that the Demon World didn't have to be kept secret. That way anti-venom could have been synthesized to save his life.

Lady had to face facts. No, she wouldn't begin to think like Trish, or Alice for that matter. She wouldn't resign herself to believe that he would die where he lay. She simply couldn't. Dante was stronger than that. She had to get her mind off of it. Lady decided to take a page from Dante and lighten the situation. She looked him over and took note of the slight flush of pink over his deathly pallor. The rosiness gave the small false hope of health.

"Look at this hospital gown they've got you in," she began uneasily as she moved to smooth out the wrinkles and creases of his gown, "It's absolutely dreadful. This white and green does nothing for your complexion, hon."

The only response from his direction was a low hiss from a machine. She bit her bottom lip as if contemplating a frown at the bad joke she made.

"You know," Lady began sincerely, "I didn't mind it – the snowball fight. It was actually kind of fun. I dreamt about it and about you, each time I can catch a few Z's. I give you a lot of flak for fooling around, but I never— I never told you that you really do make me laugh. You let me have fun. And… I never told you that I had a kind of crush on you. I didn't say anything because I was afraid that you wouldn't take me seriously. "

Tears streaked down Lady's face and her voice cracked, "God, I don't know why I'm telling you this now. I don't want to believe what this means. What Alice said can't be true." She held his left hand, the only one not connected to a piece of machinery. It was warm, despite the ice packs that surrounded him.

"So… I'm supposed to talk to you, maybe you'd hear me. That's what they do in the movies, right? Can you feel my hand? Do you even know that I'm here? Are you still in there?" She choked back a sob and some sniffles. She let go of his hand and sat in the chair she previously occupied. "That's twice now you've caught me crying. Why did you have to take point? Why didn't you just hang back like Trish told you to?" Lady gave a heavy sigh. She peeled herself out of the chair, realizing she needed to go for a walk and cool down.

It took everything within her power to hold it together, to push back the tears stinging her eyes, to ignore the PA speaker calls to various doctors. She strolled past the vending machines, down three flights of stairs, and outside into the bright sunshine. Funny how tragedy loomed on such a beautiful day.

A moment or two later she had her cell phone in her hand and dialed in a set of numbers. It rang for moment before a husky baritone answered, "Hello?"

"Morrison… I need you to do something for me."

**.:.:.:.:.**

Nelo Angelo sat at his desk scrutinizing a small jar containing the Hacketti's preserved remains he had the Wraith steal from the scene. He also sat among the stacks of open hardbound books he had already pored over. Each ancient tome before him confirmed what he had already known about Hacketti and her venomous barbs. At every avenue, contact with Hacketti spelled death. He knew Dante was not long for this world despite reports that his twin surviving a few days longer than expected. He wondered if his brother's deeds were enough to grant him access into Heaven. Or would Dante's lineage send him straight to Hell? Nelo had not thought of such things in the past and wished not to at the present moment. Nevertheless, the unwelcome thoughts crept into his head.

With a shout of frustration, the armored devil shoved the books off his desk and stood to face the grand windows behind him. Nelo raked a hand through his hair and stopped in mid stroke. He quickly pulled his hand away while internally reminding himself that such a thing was a _human_ quirk. Odd that such a thing would make an appearance now.

A stiff knock pulled him from his thoughts.

"Enter," his voice echoed through the chamber.

"Master," a timid voice hissed, "I have brought the alchemist as requested."

Nelo motioned for the Wraith to approach as he returned to his chair. The demon floated towards Nelo with a disheveled, old man in tow.

"Let me go," the man hollered as he tried to wrench free of the Wraith's grip. "I synthesized the serum. What more do you want?"

Nelo raised a hand, telling the lesser demon to let go of the old man.

"Do you have it," Nelo questioned.

"Yes," the alchemist dug through a pouch within his tattered robs and produced a sparkling blue vial, "Why would a devil such as you want an antidote? Feeling charitable?"

Within a blink of an eye, Nelo was in front of the alchemist with an armored hand wrapped around his thin neck. He hoisted the old man to his eye level; leaving his bare feet dangling freely and his lungs struggling to capture any air. The iron-clad devil's eyes shimmered a violent orange, warning the smart mouthed man of the additional pain and suffering he would not hesitate to inflict. Rage radiated in those eyes, but also delighted in the oxygen he was depriving the alchemist.

Nelo eased his grip and dropped the man on the floor. He apathetically watched the man writhe on the floor as he sputtered and gasped for air.

"You were saying?" Nelo raised a pale eyebrow, daring the man to speak out of turn again, "Do not forget your allegiances or I will not hesitate to end your miserable life and that of your children who are blissfully unaware of your existence."

The man nodded in understanding. He could deal with being killed, but he could never endanger his children. Years ago, Nelo magnanimously struck a deal with the alchemist: instead of killing him and his children, he erased the memories of the alchemist's offspring and committed him as his slave in the Underworld.

Nelo examined the small vial and briefly asked, "How am I to know if this will work?"

"I haven't had adequate time to test it. There's a chance for cure and death. There can be complications like shock. Maybe there is a reason why this has never been attempted. Does this have anything to do with that half-devil that slayed Hacketti? Sparda's son?"

Nelo instantly became uneasy at the man's words, but coolly hid it by asking, "Oh? Where did you hear this?"

"Oh, nowhere really," the alchemist backed off with hands up in a placating fashion.

Another weak, human defense mechanism. It reminded Nelo of Dante when he used to surrender in the midst of an argument, his feeble apologies. _Wait. Used to?_ Why is he referring to his brother in the past tense?

"Just scuttlebutt… Something I heard some demon babbling about."

At that, the devil general gave a slight grin. It was barely noticeable and nothing that neither the alchemist nor the Wraith had ever seen Nelo do, but there all the same. He was pleased with himself. Sparing the alchemist had worked in his favor. The unwitting spy. He would be sure to cut down the source of these rumors, no matter how true they were.

"Very well," Nelo finally replied, "you have served me well. You may return to your quarters." The old man gave a short bow before being escorted by two Hell Sloths that entered the room.

Once the trio left, closing the door behind them, the Wraith boldly interjected, "Surely, you do not intend to—"

"Do not question me," Nelo cut into the Wraith's words with a quiet tone that promised a fate worse than death, "You will take your leave and speak nothing of what you have seen or heard in this chamber."

"As you wisssh, massster," the Wraith bowed and backed out of the room.

Nelo Angelo twirled the vial between his fingers before pocketing it. He promptly assumed his original form, the one from which he was born… Nelo was no longer. He differed to Vergil.

**.:.:.:.:.**

Dante shuddered at the sudden sensation against his back. Electric chills flowed down his spine and put the hairs on the back of his neck on end. It was a presence that simply wasn't there before. It appeared out of the ether and briefly parted the winds, a tell-tale sign of a teleporter's power at work.

"Dad?" Dante didn't take his eyes off the setting sun.

"You sensed me?" Sparda asked, mildly impressed with his son.

"You're probably as subtle as a rhino sneaking into a library. You're getting rusty," Dante half lied to Sparda. The truth was that he _did_ sense his father's approach, but just barely. It was the same principle as a deer stopping to drink at a cool stream. It may not notice the encroaching danger of a hunter until the echo of a snapping twig.

Similarly, his father's presence didn't enter his senses until the last moment. Of course Sparda would have never intended harm on his son, but had he been an enemy, Dante would have been mincemeat before he knew what hit him. Despite being dead, this unsettled Dante more than anything. Since awaking in whatever this place was, he felt off… disconnected from some part of himself.

Then a thought crossed his mind; _how limited was he in this world?_ _Did he lose his powers in death?_ At any rate, he wanted to figure out what was going on.

"Perhaps I am." The former devil knight smiled, not letting on as to whether or not he caught onto Dante's lie.

There was a pause as a warm breeze passed over the valley.

"Dante, your mother asked me to speak with you," Sparda began, no longer wanting to mince words.

Dante heard, but never listening to the words his father said. He continued to fish around his mind, working out how he could test himself. After all, Sparda had been dead for years and still at least retained the power to teleport. _What else had he managed to hold onto?_

"Wanna spar me?" The words spilled from Dante's lips before he could give them anymore thought. He should have let it all linger in his mind for a moment longer. He knew he should've. With all of his current pensiveness, he let impetuosity take control and he'd be damned if he should take it back or call it a mistake.

"Excuse me?"

"Your hearing's going too? You know… spar, just like we did when I was little." If he was unsure of his words before, Dante made no allusion to it.

"We do not have time for such things. I have things of much import to say."

"What's the harm," Dante replied, bringing himself to his feet, "All we have here is time."

Sparda cracked a grin, telling where Dante had inherited such a feature. "Very well then, son," two broadswords materialized in Sparda's hands. He tossed one to Dante, who then caught it in midair, "Prepare yourself."

Dante recognized the ornamentation on the hilts almost immediately. He stood there, astonished at the feel, the weight, and detail of the weapon he held. So familiar and yet it couldn't be what he thought it was. Could it? The sword gleamed brightly in the waning sunlight. He fingered the sculpted metal skull and ribcage on the hilt. He then glimpsed the intertwined dragon tails on the pommel of the sword his father gripped in his left hand. These certainly could not be the keepsakes Sparda had left to him. Hadn't he left them behind with his body?

"Rebellion and Force Edge," Dante spoke in quiet admiration as if he hadn't seen the two in a million years. How did his father manage to replicate them here? He'd have to ask the question some other time.

Sparda left no time for Dante to think. He brought his sword low to the ground and swung it around to take out Dante's ankles. The younger of the combatants easily avoided the oncoming steel. Sparda kicked out on his weapon, whipping it into the opposite direction, slicing the air and hurtling towards Dante's ribs. The younger fighter managed to make the block in time and sent a small shower of sparks onto the grass. The elder fighter held fast to Force Edge, rebounding it so that its flat side smacked into his son's stomach and side hard enough to knock him off his feet. Dante locked narrowed eyes with his father as he held his aching side.

"Do not look at me with such eyes, Dante," Sparda said as he circled his fallen son and twirled his sword into a flourish, "Did I not teach you to prepare for all manner of attack. Have I not drilled into your head to anticipate all things from the enemy?"

"Don'tcha remember that you used to call me unpredictable."

Dante kicked his legs out and flipped into standing position. He mimicked the move his father had done earlier. When Sparda moved to block the attack, Dante stopped midstream and brought his arms up into a modified helm breaker. Sparda saw the strike and moved his weapon to block once again. As soon as he did, Dante landed a double kick into his father's abdomen.

"It seems I grossly underestimated you," Sparda said as he repositioned himself, and stuck his sword into the ground. He cockily beckoned his son, daring him to land another hit.

_Is that what I look like_, Dante thought as he realized how similar his mannerisms were to his father's.

Dante said nothing. He only smirked and continued his assault. Sparda responded in kind as Force Edge flew into his hand. The two furiously blocked and avoided the oncoming blows. The steel clanked and screeched as they connected. Fierce shouts and war cries echoed through the valley.

Soon, Dante's movement became sluggish as he ran out of steam. It reminded him of fighting in Hell for the first time. It was as if the air was made molasses. Everything took far more effort than it should have. He began breathing hard with growing fatigue, but he wasn't about to admit it or clue his father in on it. Dante rushed his father from the left, cutting a wide "X" on the elder's back. That too was countered with a blow to the back of Dante's leg, which caused him to kneel. Sparda finished his assault by sending a hard strike across Dante's jaw with the pommel.

Dante's head snapped backwards. He went spinning to the ground, with his face meeting dirt once again. He remained sprawled out for a few moments more reaching for the sword that was loosed from his grip. He growled, grunted and beat a fist at the ground. He was defeated. He was sure that if he was still alive, he would have broken his jaw and a few ribs, if not punctured a lung. The bruises and cuts faded as quickly as his brain processed it. He was not going to let something as simple as what he perceived as _mild_ discomfort defeat him. No, Sparda would not beat him.

Dante still had fight left in him, if anything he would go down swinging, despite any bum odds. Lying there broken and bleeding, he wracked his mind for any strategy, any desperation tactic. He could sense Rebellion a few feet from his grasp. Its oscillating aura settled into the grass calling out to him. He tried to force his will to call the weapon back to him. To his horror, he realized that he did not have enough strength to make the damned thing budge. He stubbornly refused to stop trying, even going as far as to dragging his aching body closer to his sword.

Suddenly, Dante's mind flashed to a moment when he was a child. Like before, he had challenged his father to a duel and lost miserably. He was that boy again, angrily writhing on the ground, never giving up and unable to admit that he had lost. What was there to prove? After all, his father was a powerful demon with a few millennia of experience over him.

Sparda watched Dante's futile attempts to continue fighting for a few moments more before ending the pathetic scene in front of him. Dante's vain struggles ceased when he felt the pressure of a heavy boot rest on the wrist of his reaching hand, and the cold touch of steel press against his neck. In that moment, he sat up, allowing a pregnant pause to once again permeate the valley. A hand was offered and Dante was brought to his feet. The weapons dematerialized and scattered into the winds. He once again gazed at the horizon's fleeting sunset.

The younger finally said, "She still can't accept it." It was more a statement to himself than a question to his father.

"I can scarcely believe it myself. How can you expect her to be so receptive? She and I held you and your brother in our arms when you both were infants. She birthed you. And you believed it would all go unfazed? I prayed to never have known my child's death." Sparda uttered his last thought softly as if he was only speaking to himself.

"It's a moot point now."

Sparda gave an exasperated sigh, "Son, I did not come here to rehash this. I want to speak about your time here."

"You too, Dad? Who would have thought that the very idea of death made you uncomfortable?"

"The tragic passing of a young person would make anyone uncomfortable. Your mother was right in telling you that you do not belong here."

"Weren't you the one who corroborated my realizations?"

"Yes, and I will be the first to admit that I was too hasty in saying such things. I only came to this revelation when you said that you could hear voices, presumably from the other side. You also told me that you felt off, fragmented, as if you left a piece of yourself behind. You proved my point in your inability to use your powers during our session. You are still alive."

"And what makes you think that?"

"A person's entire being cannot be in two places at once. Either you are wholly here or there. This would explain your lack of powers and lethargy in a place where no one knows hunger, suffering, or fatigue. This is what separates the living and the dead."

"How did you know? I didn't say anything." Dante said curiously.

"You are my son and I know you much better than you think."

"Then how am I here _and_ alive?"

"I would venture to say your body is asleep… Well, not in a traditional sense. Had this simply been a dream, you would have awakened by now. I suspect that you are in altered state of consciousness."

"Are you saying I'm high? I swear I haven't touched the stuff since I was eighteen," Dante half-joked.

"I mean to say that your body is most likely comatose, perhaps even dying. The body cannot live without the mind. Suffice to say, if your consciousness does not return to your body, you _will_ die."

"So, why go back? It's only a delay in the inevitable." Dante shrugged as he paced around the hillside.

"Dante, I do not disagree with your thoughts there, but why not return to enjoy the life you have left? That is what the dead, whether earthbound or moved on, envy of the living; to be of the world once again. We live through those who are alive. We receive a thrill moving through your experiences."

"Then if my body is beyond repair? How much time would be wasted? A moment? A week… a year? I would have only returned to die again moments later."

"Are you afraid of the pain? Of saying goodbye? Trust me when I say you will regret never making proper farewells."

There was sadness in Sparda's voice that wasn't lost on Dante. His thoughts turned to Lady, Trish, Patty, Alice, and even Morrison and Enzo. He was sure that they would come to understand or even forgive him in time. He suddenly pictured Lady sobbing at his funeral and pulling a gun on his casketed body in some vain retaliation for leaving her behind. But that's how the cookie crumbles; no one is an immortal.

What about the pain? He sure as hell could dish out what he received and then some. He wondered about that sometimes. If he didn't have his powers, would he feel the same way about pain? What if he returned to body with no healing factor? What if he was trapped in said body? There of course was the off chance of being one of those people living in a ten year coma, trapped in eternal suffering with only one's thoughts to keep company. The prospect quite frankly scared him.

Dante shook away scenarios and his stubbornness gave rise over the tapering breeze pitching through the valley. He didn't make any more recourse, only crossing his arms like a toddler preparing to throw a tantrum.

"Son, your mother and I only want what's best for you," Sparda sighed, "You may have already made up your mind and you probably have no intentions of listening to what pearls of wisdom I have to offer. I have invited someone to speak with you."

Dante felt a presence move behind him. He turned to face it and was surprised at the sight. There stood a young girl, barely into her teens. Her shoulder length sandy blonde locks danced in the gentle breeze framing her round face. The girl truly radiated the hopefulness of her youth, the light he always thought of her embodying even when she was ill. There was no hint of the despair or pain evident from the last time he saw her.

She moved her small hands to tame her hair as she said, "Hi, Dante. Long time, no see."

Still, he could hardly believe his eyes. "J-Jessica?"

* * *

So... I found my way back from that milk carton.

I'd like to thank all those who reviewed last time or even put this story on their fave list. Also, a special shout out goes to **Shadow-of-a-Wolf**, **Clairavance**, and **Mike Brown** for being such excellent Betas. You've all been there for me after many heavy edits, total deletions, and re-writes. Thanks for being so patient with me! Please, send some love and tell me what I did right or wrong.


	4. Glass (half) Empty

Chapter 4: Glass (half) Empty

The conversation was brief. Morrison quietly listened to Lady's request. Her voice lilted softly, thick with grief and desperation. She made several pauses to suppress her sobs. Lady rambled through a list of reasons and he continued to be patient. He never objected or hinted at how difficult her tasks would be.

"It won't be much longer now. Can you still do it?" She released a tired sigh and stifled her sniffles.

"Yes."

He hung up with Lady and echoed an exasperated sigh. _Where to begin?_ Morrison produced a small, brown, leather-bound notebook from his breast pocket. He thumbed through the pages before his eyes landed on a phone number he was instructed to use only in case of dire emergencies.

"In case of Apocalypse," Trish once said, "Or if one of us dies." He remembered her nonchalance when she spoke those words.

He dialed it and listened to the line ring a few times before he heard a click.

"Hello?"A mousy voice answered.

He immediately assumed it to belong to Kyrie. Trish had once passed along photos of her and Nero. The voice seemed like it would match that face. Speaking to her would be a first and so would contact with her boyfriend for that matter. The idea that the voice could have belonged to Nero crossed his mind for a moment before disappearing all together.

"Kyrie? I'm Morrison and I work with an agency called Devil May Cry—" He began to explain, hoping that she at least knew enough of him to know that this was no casual call. He had not the time to explain what business he had with Nero. Morrison hoped that she would simply pass the phone to her boyfriend.

The momentary silence told Morrison that the woman was probably working out why the place sounded familiar.

Kyrie chirped, "Oh, Dante's shop, right? Hello, Mr. Morrison! How are you doing?"

"Look, I don't have time for—"

To his frustration, Kyrie seemed to want polite conversation first. Morrison fiddled with the brim of his hat. Normally, he would stake great efforts in speaking like a gentleman, but today was different.

"Ahem. Excuse me for being short with you, ma'am, but is Nero home?"

"No. He isn't in." Morrison was afraid of that. "He's out on assignment. Is there something the matter?"

Morrison was quiet for a moment, upset that Nero was not there. So, he had a job. It wasn't the end of the world.

Morrison had a fleeting thought of just leaving his number and _hoping_ that she'd relay the message sooner than later. However, that would likely fail in conveying the urgency of his call. Maybe he'd get the message an hour from now or in the worst case, days. Dante had little time left. He decided to tell her; after all, Kyrie was an adult and should be able to handle the information. He parted his lips and prayed that the poor woman wasn't as fragile as her photos led him to believe.

"Dante was hurt pretty badly and I need to get into touch with Nero."

He knew that Kyrie was aware devil hunters were nearly guaranteed to be injured in battle. Still, Morrison sensed it when she nearly dropped the phone. He was sure that Kyrie knew that Dante and his other compatriots, like Nero, drew their fair share of blood.

"Oh dear! He's going to be okay, right?" The woman asked.

Morrison said nothing.

"I see," Kyrie said.

"Would you have him contact me as soon as possible? Also, could you to tell him what's going on at the first chance you hear from him?"

"Yes. And Mr. Morrison?" Kyrie hesitated.

"Ma'am?"

"I-I'll pray for him. Nero and I will be on the first plane out once he gets back."

"Thank you and I'm sure everyone will appreciate it. Until next time."

"Goodnight Mr. Morrison."

Morrison hung up the phone and sat for a moment. He glanced at his watch, noting that Patty would be at lunch by now. He supposed that things would be made simpler if he were to fetch her from school early. Dante had looked out for her in the past and she should know what was going on. It would not be right to keep it from her. The middle-aged broker gathered himself up and headed for his car.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Jessica stood in front of him, still looking every bit the teenager from years ago. A part of him was happy to see her again, but he was also shamed with guilt.

She used to offer him a warm smile and a satisfying meal whenever her father dragged him in for dinner. She smiled through her illness. She smiled up until he put a bullet in her. _I'm putting her out of her misery_, he told himself back then.

He knew the truth; she was dead and it was his fault. He _killed_ the poor girl. The whole city in which they lived literally went to Hell because of him. He would have never gotten complacent when 'Gilver' showed up. He would have given Grue a few extra dollars, then maybe he would not have gone out the way he did. So many things would have changed, if only…

She broke into Dante's thoughts. "It's not your fault," Jessica said.

"Huh? Don't know what you're talking about." Dante cracked a grin, and then looked away.

She giggled, "you've always been a terrible liar, Dante."

His mouth set into a grim line for moment. He then relented, smirking at her. "Am I that obvious?"

"We will leave you two to speak," Sparda said. He and Eva left for the cottage on the hill.

Dante watched his parents leave before he attempted conversation again.

"So… how's… stuff?" What could he really say to her?

"Are you really that eager to die?" Her bluntness stunned him.

"What makes you say that?" Dante pretended to be unaffected.

"You are willing to let go all too easily. Have you no fight left in you? Have you forgotten what you promised to do with your life?"

"It never ends. I've defeated Mundus, Sanctus, Arkham, and my own damned brother. I'm tired of it! Where's my out, huh? Lady or Trish could handle it in my place, hell, even Nero. The kid's got some chops." He paced a small circle, wearing a path in the grass.

"That's a little selfish, if you ask me." Jessica stepped closer to the considerably taller devil hunter, poking him in his chest.

"Well, I'm not. It's a thankless job that I'm tired of. Besides, they're all better off. If I hadn't somehow gotten into their lives…" His shoulders drooped as he cast his eyes to the ground.

"Would it surprise you to know that their troubles didn't begin with you? All of your friends would have met demonic interference sooner or later. Believe it or not, the world doesn't revolve around you."

Blue eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Demons have been a part of your friends' lives before you met them. Arkham had killed Lady's mother, Kalina, before Temen-Ni-Gru was raised. Trish would have been created for other purposes, if not for you, then for Vergil. I could go on and on."

Dante shook his head. "No. It would have been better if I had never been born. Maybe Mom and Dad would have lived. Maybe Verge would have found his peace of mind."

"God, Dante, you're so full of yourself. I know you're hurting, but your non-existence would have caused more harm than good. Shall I go down the list? Why don't I begin with your brother?" She moved closer.

"No. Wait."

"I'm sorry, but this is something you need to see, to know." She grasped his wrist. He twisted his arms up to throw off her grip, but stopped struggling the moment he realized that he was no longer standing in a vast field.

They were now standing in inky darkness. The only thing that stood out in the darkness was the smell of mold saturating the air. _Where were they_? _A cave probably… somewhere underground... Hell?_ This place had something to do with Vergil. Jessica told him that much.

He was tired guessing. "Jess? Where are we?"

"Just watch."

Before he could question what he should be seeing, a light was turned on. The sole orange bulb illuminated a flight of wooden stairs a foot to his left.

"A basement," Dante surmised. With the little light cast down the stairs, he was finally able to see boxes and crates lined along the walls like a snaking train set.

A figure was soon walking down the steps with slow deliberate creaks as he shifted his weight to either foot. The person made a left turn and turned on an office lamp that sat atop a wooden work bench. Dante was taken aback at what he saw. The brother he hadn't seen in years.

Vergil walked past Dante, unaware of his mirrored image before him. He promptly sat at his workspace, tinkering with some items. Dante and Jessica went ignored, like Dickensian ghosts. What shook him was how Vergil looked. The dark basement could not hide the differences between this Vergil and the one he knew.

There was no mistaking his white hair, but this Vergil's hair was dirtied with sweat and oil. His clothes were worn and threadbare in some places. His Vergil believed in maintaining an ordered appearance. This one was in shambles.

Dante took hesitant steps for a closer look. Vergil's eyes were dull and lifeless. They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much at an early age, like a child who experienced the horrors of war. His weathered face made him seem far older than he actually was. The right side of his face and neck were horribly disfigured with raised scars. Dante was so entranced by them that he almost didn't notice that his brother's right eye was glazed over with a pale cloudiness. Whatever had scarred Vergil also blinded him in one eye.

He wished to reach out and touch his brother. Dante's hand shakily hovered close to Vergil's face with a desire to caress it. He stopped himself and turned to Jessica who still stood in the same spot.

He asked, "How old is he? What happened to him?"

"He had no one to care for him. When Eva and Sparda died, he spent the rest of his nineteen years as the state's ragdoll, tossed between neglectful homes. When there is no love, there are many ways a soul can hurt. Do you remember how you two came to first realize your heritage?"

Dante nodded. "Yeah. I mean we figured something was up when I walked away after getting hit by a car when I was six. But after Pops died, Verge and I found his journals. We climbed to the top of his bookshelf in the study. It fell open, right on the entry where it said he and Mom argued whether or not they would tell us that we are half-demon. He wanted to us to inherit his weapons. They didn't think that we would have been able to handle the news. Mom later broke down and told us the truth."

"Do you remember how frightening it was to find out?"

Dante crossed his arms and returned briskly. "Your point?"

"You and Vergil found out the news together. Because you both found out, you ended up training together. In this reality, Vergil didn't have a brother to help him discover who he was. He never had anyone to compete against. He didn't discover his true potential because he had no rivalry with you; the rivalry that allowed him the desire to seek perfection. No structure and no training. No ideals of self-worth. He never attained his power. He never became _your_ Vergil. Sparda's legacy died with Sparda."

"So what? He never gained the power to raise Hell on Earth. It sure sounds like a lot of people were spared because I wasn't around to incite his insanity."

"No, Dante," Jessica shook her head. "You misunderstand. He didn't have to raise that tower to take human lives. The Vergil you see is nineteen years old; barely out of high school, wounds still festering from his years of suffering by humans that didn't understand him. Look closely."

Dante watched as Vergil carefully sifted something black into glass tubes lined with aluminum foil. Sulfur's potent scent filled his nostrils and he knew what his brother was doing.

"That's gunpowder." Dante could put two and two together. The tubes, the aluminum foil; he _knew_ what was going on and still didn't _want_ to believe it. "Jessica, why is Verge making a bomb?"

Jessica was quiet for a moment, hesitant to meet Dante's eyes again.

"Jessica?"

"This was a bad idea—"

"Jessica." Dante took a deep breath, pulling his efforts into keeping his voice calm and even.

"Look. You are smarter than you let on. I'm sure you've figured it out. We should go back—"

"Dammit, Jessica! Stop dodging and answer the damn question!" He realized that this was the first time he ever raised his voice at her. Part of him wanted to take it back, but doing so wouldn't have changed how he felt.

The atmosphere was different than it normally was with him. Dante wore no smile and had no jovial shimmer in his eyes.

She paused before speaking. "Who helped him stay out of trouble when you two were younger? Who fought on his behalf against bullies? Who defended him against ignorance? It was all you Dante. You kept him from harm and out of trouble. Without you to aid him, he was beaten mercilessly, blinded, and left scarred both mentally and physically. He didn't have a friend to console him."

Vergil froze for a moment as if to weigh his thoughts.

They watched Vergil screw lids onto his tubes. She finally brought her eyes up to meet Dante's again. She continued, "Tonight he means to take revenge on those who wronged him."

Dante stepped closer to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. The half-blinded teenager continued working, oblivious to the presence of his twin.

"Fuckin' bastard." Dante's voice was barely a whisper. He gritted his teeth, slid his hand off of Vergil, and turned to walk away. He looked over his shoulder and addressed Jessica. "So, what is this? He'll ruin his life whether or not I'm there?" He rested his hand on a wall and then topped his hand with his forehead. He quickly wiped away forming tears. He sucked in some air before speaking again. "Show me."

Jessica grasped his hand and said, "You may not like what you see."

"Just do it."

Bright white light flashed in front of Dante, momentarily blinding him. It took a while for his pupils to readjust, but he could hear sirens and engines roaring from all directions. Through the cacophony of panicked voices, Dante was able to discern a single command.

"Fan out. Search the rubble for survivors," the voice said.

When Dante's vision finally returned, he found himself standing atop a pile of broken concrete. Amongst the debris, he spotted bloodied limbs poking between the slabs, smoldering book bags, and jagged pieces of metal locker doors hooked into rebar and embedded into stone.

The school was in pieces, scattered about. In all of the years Dante had seen destruction caused by demons, nothing had truly disturbed him like the sight before him. Carnage wrought by human hands. His heart began pounding like a jackhammer. Dante clutched his chest as if to keep his heart from leaving it. His lungs began to burn and breaths only came out in quick puffs. His legs shook until they gave way, dropping him to his knees.

He spotted another mutilated body out of the corner of his eye. Vergil lay flesh-torn amongst the ruins. In a matter of moments rescuers had draped a sheet over his brother's corpse and carried it away. He gasped, "Vergil, what have you done?"

Dante fought the bile rising in his throat, unable to look away. "Jessica?" The call was weak. He was unable to find his voice.

"Jessica," louder, but still strained, "Get me out of here."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Nelo Angelo appeared in the human world after having shed his demonic armor. He found himself standing before the front stoop leading into his brother's office, unable to climb the steps.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there collecting the courage to take the first step. Despite it being a mere brick and mortar structure, in the human world no less, Vergil's body refused to budge. Dante would laugh to see such a sight; a powerful demon with vast armies at his disposal intimidated by a short flight of stairs.

Just eight steps and he would be at the front door. He'd ventured a guess that charms and talismans were hidden around the premises. At least he hoped his brother had charmed the building. Otherwise, his ego couldn't handle the alternative; that this was simply psychosomatic, a case of _nerves_. _Something human_.

He briefly wondered how the complicated spells and the long trip from the Underworld seemed so much easier than the next ten feet.

Vergil drew in a breath, mentally reminding himself he had a mission to perform. Before he could will his foot forward, a red ball brushed against his ankle as it rolled by. He bent down and picked it up in time to see three boys and a girl rushing towards him to reclaim their toy.

Her deep brown twists bounced about her head and her dusty, plaid jumper fluttered in the wind as she hustled for the ball. His stark white hair caught her attention and she picked up speed.

"Hey! Dante's back!" She called to her friends.

An old habit began to rise. The Halfling had forgotten it existed. The combination of mild anger and mirth associated with him being mistaken for his brother. Vergil wanted to object. He wanted to set the children straight on their mistake, but he also knew how stupid it would be to do so.

It had been many years since he'd seen his twin, let alone heard him speak. The truth was that he had no idea what Dante would say at a time like this. Would he have stopped and joined the children in their game or would he have gone on his way after reminding them to stay out of the street? It was no secret that Dante had soft spot for children. If the time spent watching Dante help with the younger children during their days in the orphanage wasn't obvious enough, then Vergil would have gained an idea when the girl appeared to know Dante by name.

Their time apart brought more doubt to the half-devil's mind. He remembered when he and Dante made a game of switching identities. In those days, none were the wiser. It had been easy back then. Vergil was never far from his brother. The proximity of the two made it simpler to study the other's speech and mannerisms to be copied later. Distance and time undid that particular skill in Vergil's repertoire.

_Would they notice_, Vergil wondered. _ If I spoke now, would I sound any different than what they are used to? _

Everything was different now. Dante was no longer that cocky teenager he fought at Temen-ni-gru. It stood to reason that as the younger twin grew up; his arrogance would have also waned over the years. Of, course the reverse could be true, too. Vergil could attempt to imitate his brother for the sake of those children, but pretense would only carry him so far, especially with no intimation of how much his brother had evolved over the years.

His attention turned to the children again. Vergil pulled his lips into a smirk. He remembered at least that much. The boys slowed their strides, stopping next to the girl. She threw her skinny arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Vergil tensed at first, unaccustomed to her display of affection. It was so foreign to him that his first thought was to push the little girl down. He reminded himself that as far as these children knew, he was the owner of the building before him. There was no need in alarming them. The children may also know the demon hunters Dante kept in his company. They would alert his brother's allies to his presence. The last thing he wanted was to confront Dante's friends.

"You lost some weight. Did Lady steal your pizza again? Where have you been? We haven't seen you for a long time," said the girl. The concern was evident in her brown eyes and the rapid patter of her voice.

How could he have forgotten? Vergil knew he had always been a little thinner than his brother.

"Estúpida, he musta gon' out on uh yob." The dark-haired boy with a thick Puerto Rican accent spoke up.

The girl promptly stuck her tongue out at his comment. "Shut up, José! No one asked you," she shot back, "This is an A and B conversation, so _C_ your way out of it." She rolled her eyes.

"Joo know he leaves outta tow' for work. Why would joo as' such uh stupeed question?"

Vergil's eyes moved between the two youths.

"Shut your mouth," she yelled and then lunged.

"I'll heet joo back!" José bucked at her.

The other two boys restrained their friends before they could swap blows.

Vergil was a little grateful that the children were more absorbed with the hot-tempered girl than with him. He couldn't get a word in edgewise if he had wanted to. At least they would not notice anything glaringly different.

"Chill out, Jasmine. Remember what Mother Superior said? You don't want to get into trouble for another fight, do you? Can you please stay calm," the blond boy reasoned.

She nodded and the blond let her go. At the same time, the final boy released José. Jasmine crossed her arms and pouted.

"Sorry about that, Dante," the blond said, "We were all a little worried when you were gone for over three days and that ambulance came—" The boy's voice faded away, consumed by Vergil's thoughts.

_Ambulance_? _Had things gotten so bad that his allies would risk exposure_? _Had their mission gone so awry that they sought help from human physicians? _

The blond continued, "Then Trish and Lady seemed kind of sad. She's inside if you want to talk to her— Lady, I mean. She just got back like ten minutes ago."

"We gotta get going. We can't be late for supper again," Jasmine said, glancing at her My Little Pony watch.

"Later, Dante," the children said in near unison. The boys began down the street.

"I don't think I ever saw Lady cry before. Something really bad must have happened." Vergil handed the ball to Jasmine and then she left.

The smirk faded as soon as her back was turned. "_Something really bad must have happened_," she'd said. _Am I too late_, he asked himself.

His heart began to beat fast and tremors shook his hands. A chill went through him and his stomach suddenly went sour. He had felt this sense of foreboding three times before in his life. The first had been when Dante was hit by a car trying to retrieve a ball. The second was when he and Dante had been separated as their home burned down around them. The last time had been when his twin had lain immobile in the rain atop Temen-ni-gru.

Vergil felt something four days ago, but it wasn't as strong as this. He came to a series of chilling realizations. His instincts told him that his and Dante's bond were mending while they remain in the same realm. He vaguely wondered if these sensations were Dante slipping away.

Bile rose in his throat and his body became like lead. Shivering, he began to sink into the ground, crushed by Dante's impending death. He thought that he had more time.

_Is it now_? _Is it happening now_?

A hand clamped onto his shoulder and another gripped his elbow, pulling him up to his feet. He didn't bother to snatch away from the grasp. His pride forgotten. He turned his head, meeting the eyes of the stranger that came to his aid.

He couldn't see beyond the dark shades she wore, but her long golden hair and her fiery aura so like and unlike his mother was a giveaway.

"Vergil," Trish greeted. She seemed mildly annoyed at his presence, but not at all as angry as he would have imagined. It was almost as if she expected to see him.

"I—" Words were failing him. Suffocating under his emotions. His silver-blue eyes swam with tears he'd forgotten that he could cry. He gulped in air and tried again.

"I can feel him." His voice was so soft that Trish's demonic hearing had difficulty picking up on it.

She made no reply. Trish moved her hand that was previously on his shoulder to his back and began to rub small circles.

"I can feel him. He's not— not going to make it, is he?"

Again, Trish said nothing. She continued to rub his back with one hand and led him into the shop with the other.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

"Patty Lowell please report to main office for early departure," the PA broadcasted into the cafeteria.

"Ooooh!" the group seated around her instigated.

"Look who's in trouble," one of the boys drawled.

Patty's cheeks briefly tinted pink before she tossed a tater tot at the boy. "Oh, shut up, Jason!"

She gathered her lunch tray readying to dump her trash.

"You can't leave early," a girl spoke up, "We have a Student Government meeting tonight."

"So, I'll miss a meeting. No biggie," Patty countered. She tossed her garbage in a bin a few paces from their table.

Patty returned. "But you're the president," the girl rebutted.

"And you'll have the rest of the council to support you, Madam Vice President," said Patty. She turned and shrugged into her jacket. "Whatever will you do when I sign up for softball—when the season starts?" She asked the latter with a dramatic sigh.

Patty was more than happy to distance herself from SGA, at least for a little while. She genuinely enjoyed some of the work she did with the group and it would definitely look good on her college applications. What she didn't like was that it often interfered with her other extracurricular work. Had she the time, Patty would be playing on the volleyball or soccer teams; probably even tryout for cheerleading. She'd visit Devil May Cry more often. She would not be listening to a school organization squabble about how impotent it is to affect any real change during her lunch!

_Just one more year_.

She left the cafeteria and collected her bag from her locker moments later.

_It's probably Dante_, she thought as she strolled into main office. _He probably scored a lot of money on his last job and wants me to play hooky with him._ A smile spread across her face. _I haven't seen him in a while and I could go for a strawberry sundae right about now._

Her blue eyes widened upon seeing Morrison waiting for her in the reception area, fiddling with his hat.

"Hey, Morrison," she said, "How's it hanging?"

He paused a moment, scratching the back of his head, unsure of how to break the news to her.

She frowned. Right then, she knew whatever reason Morrison showed up at her school had to be bad. Everyone knew he was like a grandfather to her. Whatever this was, he was meant to soften.

"Is Mom okay?" Patty kept coaching herself to remain calm. She'd always figured that a demon would come for her and her mother again, to wipe out the remaining descendents of Alan Lowell.

"Yeah. I just talked to her. She agreed to let me come and get you." He pushed back on his frayed nerves.

She breathed a sigh of relief. A short-lived relief when her thoughts shifted to her friends.

"Lady and Trish are fine too?"

Morrison nodded. "It's… It's—"

"Dante?"

"I'll tell you everything in the car."

Her eyes began to tear up at his admission. She quickly wiped away the evidence, attempting to stay strong, but failing.

Morrison knew Patty had been close to Dante since he played her bodyguard all those years ago. He even thought as the hunter as his own son. There was always a twinge of guilt whenever he sent Dante any mission briefs. He knew about this past mission. He forwarded it to Dante himself. Morrison took it hard when Lady first told him that Dante may only have a few hours left. Even then he tried to bury his emotions. Seeing Patty doing the same stirred something in Morrison, breaking his heart at her display.

He put the hat on and led her out of the office.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

A mechanical male voice said, "You have reached the voicemail of—"

"Nero—" another bored male said.

"And Kyrie—" a chipper female said.

"— Are not available at the moment. Please leave message after the tone or press five for more options."

BEEP.

"Hey, Kyrie it's me. Never thought I'd see the day when payphones became scarce in Fortuna. I really need to get a cell phone. The knights and I have finished the job early… and… Listen, something hasn't been sitting right since the mission. It's hard to explain. I can feel some aura messing with the Devil Bringer. It's like someone's soul is crying. I know it sounds weird. I-I don't know what it is, but my gut's telling me something is going on in Capulet. I tried calling Dante to see if he knows what's going on. Nobody's picking up. I'm going to head out there myself. I'll call you back if anything comes up. Love you and I'll talk to you later."

Nero ended the call and crossed the terminal to the waiting plane.

* * *

A/N: Apologies on the long overdue update. Thanks to my lovely betas who are full of infinite patience; **Clairavance**, **Mike Brown**, and **Shadow-of-a-Wolf**.

*I had thoughts of leaving out the basement scene with Vergil because of the still fairly raw mass shooting tragedies around the country and the bombings in Boston and Kenya. I empathize with the pain of those who survived those situations and it is not my intention to offend anyone.

** Jessica is a character from the first DMC novel. Without trying to spoil too much for those who haven't read it, she was the eldest daughter of Grue, one of the mercenaries who work with Dante. According to the novel, Dante had a soft spot for Grue's kids. The rest of the story will be written on the assumption that the novel had been read first.

Thank you for reading and please review. Your reviews will help me grow and figure out if what I'm doing is right or wrong.


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